


Revival

by Corentine_Noctua



Series: Revival-verse [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, I don't really know what I'm doing but I did my best, Multi, Sort of? - Freeform, debatable historical accuracy, most characters are in college, not beta read we die like men, not focused in romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-10-28 05:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20773247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corentine_Noctua/pseuds/Corentine_Noctua
Summary: Alternatively named “A Hamilton reincarnation AU except it’s as historically accurate as I could make it”.Alexander Hampton didn’t believe in coincidences.If he had, he’d never have met Hercules Mueller, John Lawrence, Joseph du Motier and Aaron Buhr. He’d never have run into Elizabeth Skylar. He’d never have seen George Walsh, or Thomas Jackson, or James Maison, and most definitely wouldn’t have met Angelica and Margaret Skylar.Alex Hudson didn’t believe in coincidences either, but that was another matter entirely.





	1. Alexander Hampton, my name is Alexander Hampton

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, hi, this is my first time writing something for this fandom, I hope it isn't as dead as it seems.  
So, this story is going to have very short chapters because it's supposed to be the foundation of a sequel I'm working on. It's mostly finished, but updates might take a while for reasons. Which reminds me: english isn't my first language and this isn't Beta read so if you notice any mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me.  
On another note, this isn't focused specifically on romantic relationships. It's more like "general relationships with background Lams", if that makes any sense. Also, if you've read the tags or the summary, you know this is a reincarnation AU (so freaking original) which means Alexander and Eliza had a relationship in the past, but we'll get to that.  
I think this is all, for now. See you in the comments.

**March 15** **th** **, 2004 – Bronx, New York City, NY**

Alex was startled by the sound of yelling and his pencil left a long line on the page he was writing on. He sighed, ripping the page and throwing it in the trashcan to start over.

Mr. and Mrs. Holanda were fighting again. Not an uncommon occurrence, but rare enough to surprise him. Still, Mrs. Holanda had a six-year-old son, and she’d do everything to keep the kid from witnessing a fight. Even if it meant telling him to go sit outside the apartment for as long as the yelling lasted.

Alex tried to dismiss the noise by working on his essay. Being the type of reincarnate who remembered his past life since… well, forever, he'd expected to be ahead on his studies, but instead had to learn everything all over again. The only knowledge he'd been able to keep was related to maturity (He could almost hear the mocking comments: “Maturity? From Alexander Hamilton? Don’t make me laugh”).

On the other hand, learning kept his mind occupied while the world crumbled and he pretended not to notice. And it was doing a great job, until the words “bastard”, “Scotsman” and “whore” came from across the wall. He hadn’t heard  _ those _ in a while.

Something made of glass broke. “A window”, his imagination provided, “perhaps a bottle”. A child cried. The boy got up and tried not to hesitate as he called the police. He did his best not to freak out when ten minutes passed and the building went silent.

When the police got there, they arrested a man and put an auburn-haired child inside a black car. Alex watched from his window. He didn’t know what happened to Mrs. Holanda until much later. (He’d find out through Raquel. She’d get home late and tell him she heard other neighbors talking about the kid that wasn’t Mr. Holanda’s son. “He found out and attacked his wife… nearly killed the child as well”.)

In the middle of the night, the teen came to the realization that he had never asked the little boy’s name and a strange guilt settled in his guts. Maybe, if he’d spared a few minutes to approach him, the boy wouldn’t have had to watch his mother leave.

The adult part of his mind told him that there had been nothing he could’ve done to help. The idealist part of his mind promised to find out the name. A week later, he did: Alessandro.

The man who told him – a Scotsman called Mr. Hudson – lived in the same building and his auburn locks were the same shade Alex had last seen disappearing in a social service car. The teen didn’t bother asking anything else. It seemed fair to know your child’s name, even if he didn’t know you were his father.

(“Satisfied? You kept your promise, now let it go”, Alex’s adult mind told him. And he did, at least for a while. He had more important things to worry about.)


	2. Braah, braah, I am Hercules Mueller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I was writing this I kept thinking about little facts I know about the historical characters and decided to add a fun fact at the end notes. I'll probably add more fun facts on later chapters too. Think of it as the "The More You Know" section.  
With that out of the way, enjoy the chapter and see you in the comments!

**July 27** **th** **, 2007 – Harlem, New York City, NY**

Despite the resemblance in the name, Raquel Hampton hadn’t been the reincarnation of Rachel Faucette. She hadn’t died when Alex was 12, but when he was 17, after surviving a hurricane, unsustainable work hours and no health insurance for over nine years. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

Raquel had been born in Puerto Rico, got married once, had a son, became a widow in the hurricane and moved to New York. She worked non-stop to keep her child alive and healthy. It hadn’t been enough.

Alexander only got his emancipation because he was able to prove he’d been alive during the eighteenth century, which meant he was older than the country he was stepping on and  _ knew full well how to take care of himself, thank you very much _ .

He got into college early – Columbia University was a lame name compared to King’s College, but he wasn’t very fond of kings anyway – and moved into an apartment in Harlem with another broke student. Alex couldn’t stop smiling when he recognized the name while his new roommate introduced himself. Lucky for him, he was recognized just as easily.

“Hercules  _ Mueller _ , please don’t call me Mulligan.  _ Yes _ , you may call me Herc. Why are you laughing so much?”

Hercules looked… completely different, but the only important change was that Alex felt  _ even shorter _ around him. It didn’t stop the 17 year-old from being excited, though. He couldn’t believe he’d be sharing a place with Herc again.

“At least we’re both going to college”, Alex said.

“At least I’m only five years older than you”, had been the answer.

They caught up quickly after that, sitting on the beat-up couch and drinking coffee in mugs they’d found in one of the boxes lying around the place.

“Irish again, moved to New York when my mom got pregnant and spent the last few years saving to pay for the Fashion Design major”, Herc began, looking at his coffee as if wishing it were something else, but drinking it anyway. “Oh, yeah. I also joined some Anarchist movements, but that didn't go anywhere, so I decided to start my own business.”

Alex couldn't help but laugh. “Just like you to try and start another revolution”, he said. Hercules scoffed.

“In my defense, this country is shit. I wouldn't be surprised if Lafayette showed up to support anarchists and Washington tried to become president again.”

“That's contradictory.”

Hercules shrugged and leaned back. “Lafayette made a point to join every revolution he could. And what’ve  _ you _ been up to, tomcat?” He asked, clasping a hand over his friend's shoulder. Herc squinted when he noticed he could feel Alex's bones under his jacket and hoped Hampton hadn’t seen it.

Alex had, of course - the damn analyst - and sighed heavily before saying:

“Got lucky this time. Still Caribbean, but moved to Bronx with my mother after hurricane Georges”. Alex put his empty mug on the coffee table, avoiding his friend's gaze. “I studied a lot, but probably didn't have the healthiest lifestyle. My mother had to work too much. She passed away… almost six months ago? I got emancipation and my essays got me a scholarship.”

There wasn't much to be said about it, so Hercules changed the subject to the one thing he knew could lift Alex's mood:

“Do you think we'll meet Laurens or the Schuylers around here? If our experience is anything to go by, they're in South Carolina and Albany.”

“To be honest, I think the first person we'll meet won't be any of them”, Alex was smiling like he knew a joke Hercules didn't. The older man lifted an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate. “I think we'll meet Burr.”

“Burr?!”

“He's probably in New Jersey. Princeton y'know? Unless… well, let's just say he knows where to find me.”

Hercules took a minute or two to understand what was his point. But when he did:

“ _ Oh _ , you read about it then.”

“Yeah. If he's actually sorry about it – that is, if he didn't just regret it because karma caught up with him – then I'm willing to leave all that behind.”

“I had heard you forgave him on your deathbed, but didn't know it was true.”

Alex laughed dryly. “Hercules, we're both aged and at least a little wiser than our ancestors were. Tell me: if I held any rancor against my old enemies, would I have anything left of my memories to cherish?”

Hercules let out a booming laugh. “Your skill with words, certainly. But you do have a point. While I'm happy to find old friends again, there's a lot I'd rather leave in the past.”

A heartbeat, then:

“Wait a second, when did you get your memories?”

“Uh, I’ve… always had’em?”, the response was phrased like a question and illustrated by an awkward smile.

“Man, that’s why you’re so chill about it! I remembered in the middle of a lame documentary about the revolutionary war that was on TV one day.”

That had Alex openly laughing.

“You didn’t strike me as the type that watched documentaries, Herc.”

“It was after a nasty break-up, okay? And joke’s on her, because it made me remember I am a fucking badass”, Hercules looked like he was ready to go on a tangent about how great he’d been and all the things his ex was missing, but Alex beat him to it:

“That wasn’t what got you over the break-up, though, was it?”

“Nah, it was the memory of that foursome”, the man put on a shit-eating grin to match the sentence.

“I still remember how you wouldn’t shut up about  _ four sets of corsets _ … Annoying as fuck, I say.”

“Bah. You’re just jealous because Laurens refused to wear one for you.”

Alex smacked him in the face with the closest pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Apparently Hamilton wouldn’t stop rambling even as he was dying and one of the things he said was that he’d never meant to shoot Burr and actually forgave him the moment he pulled the trigger.


	3. The prodigy of Princeton College: Aaron Buhr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I am surprisingly on time.
> 
> I'm also surprised by the response this got so fast, thank you very much to everyone who left kudos and comments!  
I hope you like this chapter even though it's short as heck. I'll see if I have the time to post a second chapter today.
> 
> P.S.: There's a question for you at the end notes and it's quite important for the development of this story, so please leave your answers in the comments!

**August 3** **rd** **, 2007 – Columbia University Campus, New York City, NY**

As it turned out, Aaron recognized Alex in orientation. The immigrant was in the middle of complaining about John Jay Hall – without admitting he’d almost gotten a room at the dorm, obviously - and they stared at each other awkwardly for about five minutes until Aaron blurted an “I'm sorry” and Alex punched him in the face.

“We're even and you’re forgiven”, Alex said, and then: “Let’s start over. Hello, I'm Alex Hampton, pleasure to meet you Mr…”

“Aaron Buhr”, the man answered, holding his nose, that wasn't bleeding but got pretty damn close – Since when did Hamilton have a such good punch? – Hampton lifted an eyebrow. “Spelled differently”, Buhr added.

“So, since  _ that’s _ sorted out, mind telling me how the XXI century has treated you this far?” Alex nudged him with an elbow, an easy smile on his lips.

“What, you mean being from New Jersey, getting one year ahead in school because of a history book in third grade – battle of Monmouth – and came to Columbia to study Law?”

“Is that so?”

Awkward silence.

“I have been looking for you.”

“I’m getting nervous, sir.”

Buhr rolled his eyes. “I do genuinely regret what happened in Weehawken. I was hoping to find a way of apologizing, Hamilton.”

“Hampton. And don’t sweat it.”

“What?”

“You called me Hamilton. It’s Hampton now. Only one person knows about it… can you believe I’ve only found one person whom I knew before? It’s Mulligan. And he’s Irish, which is ridiculous. I’ve been thinking of going to Albany and attempting to find the Schuylers, but I’m still considering the possibility of meeting other people around here. Also, knowing Eliza, she’ll try to get as close to the Grange as possible, so I should probably stay in Manhattan – Hamilton Heights, even though…”

Buhr wasn’t sure of how rude it would be if he called Alex out on his rambling and knew Hampton might even be offended, but he also wasn’t in the mood to listen to thirty minutes of Alex trying to figure out what to do to find his friends and family. He settled on calling his name.

“Hampton.”

Alex stopped talking – a miracle, truly – and looked at Buhr for a moment before grinning. It was the type of grin that made it look like he knew something you didn’t; it got to Buhr’s nerves faster than the speed of sound – How the heck was he able to look so similar and so different from his former self at the same time?

Buhr tried not to think about his own appearance, so absurdly different from before that some days he couldn’t even recognize his own reflection, but couldn’t help but notice Hampton hadn’t said a word about it; hadn’t even looked surprised.

“Come on, orientation is probably starting now and I can’t wait to see my  _ Alma mater  _ again”, Alex said and went towards the other students without sparing a second glance to see if his ex-enemy was following him.

Buhr huffed a laugh and begrudgingly followed. “Not as difficult as expected”, he thought to himself. “Maybe it isn’t that hard to avoid shooting a friend, after all”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: After Hamilton’s death, Burr referred to him as “Alexander Hamilton, my friend, whom I shot” whenever Hamilton was mentioned.
> 
> QUESTION: What are your Hamilton ships? I have my own ideas, but I'd like to know what you guys wanna see here and I can start working on something if you tell me.
> 
> See you next chapter and thank you for reading!


	4. I'm John Lawrence in the place to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I had this chapter done by Sunday and forgot to publish it. I'm so sorry, I've been unbelievably busy, college is hell.  
This chapter is longer than the last one, but I feel like it's terrible.  
Anyway, hope you like this and see you in the comments!

**October 28** **th** **, 2007 – Columbia University Campus, New York City, NY**

Getting a job inside the campus was one of the best choices Alex had ever made, even if it was Brownie’s Cafe and barely paid his half of the rent. He could walk there from class, which meant it was easier to get extra hours and extra money. Also, it was close enough to St. Luke’s Emergency Medicine that a few med students stopped by at 6 PM to get their share of a nearly-unhealthy amount of caffeine.

Or, at least that was the excuse this specific med student had when he got there at 6:50, looking like he’d just ran a marathon and carrying so many books he had to drop them all over a nearby table before (properly) addressing Alexander, who was looking (properly) surprised by the guy who interrupted his (late) closing of the cafe.

“Can I help you?”

“Yea-yes. I, um, I was wondering if it’s not too late to get a macchiato with one, no, two extra shots of espresso? Please?”

Alex noticed he had freckles all over his face – It  _ was  _ late – His eyes were a brown so light it neared amber – He was supposed to have closed twenty minutes before – But it wouldn’t hurt to be a little late for his night class, right? He wouldn’t mind being a little late for a cute face like that.

“No problem, It’ll be ready in no time”, he smiled and went behind the counter to prepare the drink. “Are you a student here?”, he asked tentatively.

“Yeah… I mean, not _here _as in “here in this building”. I’m a med student. I was on my way to St. Luke’s for a night shift, but I, uh, I usually grab a coffee beforehand and today I ran into an old friend on the way and got late, so he told me to come here because it was already on the way and… and I really hope this is enough to _disarm a resentment by a single mark of attention._”

Alexander almost dropped the cup of steaming coffee then and there.

“My dear Laurens, haven’t I already told you not to take advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent?”

“It's been 225 years, I think it wouldn’t hurt to remind me.”

Alex refused to hesitate as he leaned over the counter and pulled the other man in for a kiss. And hell if it didn’t compensate for three centuries of wanting to do that without fear.

They pulled apart and John asked:

“You think we can catch up?”

“Didn't you just say you had work?”

“Nah, that was the cover story just in case Herc had been messing with me when he said you worked here.”

“Wow, I'll make sure to tell him you don't trust him.”

“Alex, we're talking about the guy that was arrested by the British for spying, but was so good at his job that they couldn't prove it”, John paused for a second. “To be honest, he was so good at his job that  _ colonists _ couldn’t prove it. Washington even had to intervene.”

Alex chuckled, took the coffee and gave it to him, saying: “Let me finish closing and then we can see if Herc can be trusted when he says he won’t be home tonight.”

John smiled and wiggled his eyebrows, making the other man laugh louder.

If either of them said they weren't euphoric, it’d be a lie. Unfortunately, New York traffic wasn't eager to help them and they ended up stuck in John's car for nearly an hour before arriving at Alex's place. Fortunately, an hour was enough for Alex Hampton and John Lawrence to explain their new lives.

“Call me the worst, but the only reason why I didn't come out to my family is that I need someone to pay my tuition and textbooks” John gestured to the pile of books he'd thrown on the backseat before getting in the car with Alex.

“Can't blame you. Are they too bad?”

“Who, my parents? They're… better than last time. They’re new money, though, so public image is important for them. Convincing them to let me study in New York was a bitch, so I ended up saying my wife from my old life was probably here. I think they'd be happier to hear I found  _ her _ than the  _ true _ love of my life.”

John stopped talking as if he’d just understood what he admitted out loud. Alex looked just as startled.

“I-I mean… I know you had  _ your _ own life and all, but for… for me you're the only one I really loved… even with Martha and…”

“Hey” Alex interrupted. “John, if you're still the same – and from what I've seen you really haven't changed a lot – I love you too.” Alex gave him a kiss on the cheek, close enough to hear John let out a breath he'd been holding.

“What about Eliza?”

The million dollar question.

Alexander sighed and leaned back on his seat.

“And what about Eliza…”, he repeated, sighed again and made up his mind. “I loved her, but treated her like I didn't. She had always deserved better.”

He tapped a rhythm on the dashboard with his fingers: nine taps, a pause, three more, like a song. “I think I ruined all their lives…”, he trailed off and both remained silent for a few moments. “I'd like to meet her again to apologize. She'd probably want to leave the past in the past, but I don’t want to lose her completely, if it makes any sense.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah”, John wants to look at him but doesn't. “I can't say I understand, 'cause I don't know what it's like to have a family like you. But I want you in my life now and I have to accept the fact that you love other people. You’re free to love whoever you want.”

Alex couldn’t refrain from kissing him again, closer to his mouth this time, muttering something like “anarchist” afterwards.

“If it's worth anything, I want you in my life too, Lawrence, and this time nothing can stop us.”

“Not even Herc's complaining?”

Alex's smirk was an answer unto itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Hercules Mulligan was imprisoned twice under suspicions of being a spy but the British were never able to prove it because he was too good at it. In fact, he was so good that continentals started believing he was actually a redcoat and Washington supposedly had to compensate by having one of his daily meals with Mulligan as an expression of trust.
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you in the comments!


	5. It must be nice to have Walsh on your side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is terribly late and absurdly short and I'm sorry, I really am, but it's exam week and college is hell (what was I thinking when I decided to write a story during my second semester of university? It doesn't even help in my profession)
> 
> I can't promise next chapter will be out in time either, and I apologise for that, but I'll be working on my final projecs during the next few weeks and I have to sort my priorities (said the world's biggest procrastinator). Anyway, I just wanted to get that out of the way, hope you guys like this poor excuse for a chapter.
> 
> P.S.: This story has reached over 20 kudos and I'd like to thank everyone who is supporting this! Thank you!

**February 22** **nd** **, 2008 – Columbia Law School, New York City, NY**

There was a question written on the chalkboard:

“What were the main consequences to the economic crisis of 1930?”

So the new professor was that type of guy. Alex didn’t expect to have someone eager to teach anything in Contemporary History II after the complete disaster that had been the previous professor. It was hard to admit, but that guy might’ve been more useless than John Adams and most students thanked god for his removal.

The new teacher didn’t look older than forty, introduced himself as Professor Walsh, mentioned he had a PhD in American History and started looking up names in the roll call to ask students to answer the question. He didn’t have to ask more than one student, though, because the first name he called was Alexander Hampton.

“The US stopped investing in Europe and tried to focus on strengthening the internal market, which led to a generalized economic crisis in Europe – mostly countries that had been directly affected by World War I. The people who lived in those countries were hit by extreme inflation that worsened their situations and started seeing the solution in the fascist parties. That ultimately resulted in the ascension of Hitler and Mussolini and caused World War II.”

He could see Buhr shaking his head from the corner of his eye and heard him mutter “disappointed, but not surprised”. Alexander made mental note to ignore him for the rest of the morning.

“Thank you, Mr. Hampton. I now know who to trust when looking for complete paragraphs as answers”, professor Walsh said, completely unfazed. Buhr chuckled to Alex’s left, which got him a deserved stab by his colleague’s elbow.

Walsh carried on, using the answer as a basis for the lecture and didn’t make the mistake of asking Hampton a question for the second time. Buhr was happy to point that out by the end of the class.

Students walked out of the room and Alex pretended not to be in a hurry when shoving his notebooks and pens inside his bag – there was a reason why he always took the desk closest to the door – but stopped in his tracks when Walsh said:

“Hampton, you have a minute?”

He didn’t, but Walsh’s tone was imposing enough to remind him of a command and the professor took his brief hesitation as a yes.

“Did you live during the twentieth century?” Not many people mentioned past lives out of the blue; normally, if someone thought they’d met before, the first choice was saying something both people were supposed to know from the past.

“No, sir”, he replied, turning to face the man.

“I see. I was right in my assumptions, then.”

The younger man tilted his head, his interest picked. From his perspective, he'd just dismantled Walsh’s assumption on the spot.

“I believe last time we met was in 1798 as I delegated the leadership of the army to you in my retirement.”

Alexander smiled. _ Should’ve seen this coming. _

“Not the best of choices, truly.”

“Was it? From what I heard you’re the one who likes making those.”

PhD in American History, right.  _ Should’ve seen that one coming too _ . Walsh smirked while organizing his own papers.

“Who was the poor fella you stabbed with your elbow five times throughout the class? He didn’t say a word during the lecture” He asked.

“Oh, that was Buhr – surely you read his name in the roll call – and I elbowed him because he keeps complaining about… you know what? Nevermind, it’s unimportant.”

That was new. The professor raised his eyebrows in surprise, expecting an explanation from Hampton’s part. When he got nothing in return, he decided to ask:

“Is there anything I missed regarding that?”

Alex huffed and smiled awkwardly. He looked uncomfortable with the idea of explaining the matter to the first president of the United States. “No, not really. We’re less likely to pull guns at each other, is all. You might’ve missed something else, though.”

“Enlighten me.”


	6. Angelica, Eliza and Maggie, the Skylar sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE  
kind of. Things have been rough, this was supposed to have been updated three months ago.  
Long story short: I got hit by a car, finals nearly killed me, I almost failed Sociology and I ended up at the hospital three times in the last two months.
> 
> BUT I'M BACK NOW AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS.  
I'm working on the next chapters already, but let's take this one thing at a time.  
Hope you guys like this one.

**November 24** **th** **, 2008 – Trinity Churchyard, New York City, NY**

He held six white flowers; lilies, the saleswoman from the shop had said. Honestly, Alex could care less, what really mattered was that they were white as snow and he was just another face among the people who passed by Trinity Church that day. There was no one else to be seen in the churchyard.

It struck him as strange that people were willing to visit  _ his _ grave in the summer – and Eliza’s by extension – but no one bothered to visit Philip in November. Philip, who had never hurt a soul and made a lot less mistakes than his father.

Before he left the flat, John and Hercules offered to stick along, but Alex declined, making up an excuse that if he got sick someone healthy would need to help him get through his finals alive. In response, Herc threw one of his most recent projects at him – a very warm,  _ very green  _ winter coat that crashed horribly with the rest of his black outfit – and John wrapped a scarf around his neck with such vigor Alex though he’d be strangled then and there.

An hour later, staring at his son’s tombstone, Alex wished he weren’t alone. He’d left two white flower’s for Eliza, two for Angelica – cringed at his own grave, because he got all the respect he didn’t deserve – and two for Philip.

For a moment, Alexander wished he knew where his other children had been buried, but quickly pushed the thought away, because not knowing meant they had outlived him.

“Sir? I don’t mean to sound rude, but may I ask what are you doing out here, in the cold?” A soft voice asked from behind him and he turned to face who had spoken. She was a teen about the same height as him, her face holding slightly Asian features and her hands holding two small bouquets of roses close to her chest. Unlike him, she was appropriately dressed in black with the exception of her sky-blue scarf.

“Just visiting someone I once knew”, Alex answered. “And what about you, if I may ask?”

She stepped closer to put one of the bouquets on Philip’s tombstone, eyeing the white lilies suspiciously before straightening her posture and turning to look at Alexander.

“Same as you, I believe”, she seemed to debate whether to say something else for a second, then asked: “Tell me, who do you think these are for?”, she awkwardly gestured towards the rest of the flowers.

Anyone else would dismiss it as mere coincidence: A History student taking pity on innocent souls; a descendant of the family; someone who had lost a bet. But Alexander Hampton didn’t believe in coincidences. It’d be a lie if he said he hadn’t been hoping to meet her ever since he’d moved to Manhattan, over a year before.

“If I say it’s for Angelica Schuyler Church, will you forgive me, Eliza?”

She smiled sadly, let out a relieved sigh and raised her right hand to touch his face, brushing her thumb against his cold skin. His stomach sunk when she shook her head slowly, still smiling.

“Alexander, there’s nothing to be forgiven here, love.” The words contradicted her gestures in a way he didn’t quite understand. “These are for you, but I guess I won’t leave them at your grave anymore. You were right.”

“What?”

“ _ Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea; I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world. _ ”

Unexpected wasn’t the word he was looking for. He took her hand away from his face and kissed her knuckles with all the reverence he could gather, then quoted back: “ _ Best of wives and best of women. _ ” It made her laugh, the sound was like bells in his ears, and suddenly her arms involved him in a tight hug that was both too short and too long.

“You’re freezing. Hey, Angelica and Margaret are waiting for me at the cafe down the street. Join us? I promise I won’t let them hit you”, she began pulling him towards Broadway, but paused to add: “Not too hard, at least.”

He chuckled when she shrugged and kept dragging him along, not waiting for his answer and at some point giving the roses for him to carry.

“Margaret?” he asked eventually.

“Angelica, Margaret and Elizabeth, the Skylar sisters. The only thing that changed is the spelling, Peggy’s name and our nicknames.”

“Please don’t tell me people call you Betsey”, he pleaded.

“Don’t worry, that one’s still exclusive”, Eliza spared him a sideways glance and a wink. “Our parents call me ‘Liza’, though. It’s only fair. We were already pushing destiny by being adopted by the same couple, I wouldn’t make people call me Eliza because of my past life. Which reminds me: what’s your name?”

“Alexander Hampton. Not too different either.”

They entered the building and were welcomed by the most cozy-looking coffee shop Alex had ever seen. Bean&Bean made Brownie’s look like a dumpster – which honestly was kind of expected from a university coffee shop, but still.

Eliza led him to a table where a girl and a woman sat, sipping different hot beverages. Alex was startled by how different they looked, but something in his guts told him Angelica was the one glaring at the bouquet and Peggy was the one making a face at his coat.

“Eliza, I thought you were visiting a cemetery, not getting yourself a boyfriend” the younger girl said, making her sister glare at her.

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just the guy I was visiting.”

“I don’t think you said what you meant to just say, dear” the other woman observed.

Eliza glared at her as well, leading Alex to barely hold back a chuckle.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” She said.

Alex’s laugh died in his throat and he ended up coughing instead.

“Alexander Hampton. It’s… a pleasure to see you again”, he managed, his eyes lingering on Peggy’s expression a little too long by the end of the sentence.

The sisters stiffed simultaneously, looked at him, each other and then back at Alex. Peggy was the first to answer, a bright smile coloring her features. She got up and embraced him briefly, not without whispering two words in his ear.

Angelica had a more blunt approach.

“I’d normally slap your face off and everyone here could watch, but I’m feeling nice. Here’s some advice: stay away, will ya?”

“Angelica!” Eliza’s voice was an exasperated whisper as to not attract attention to them. “Ignore her, she’s just salty because she wasn’t the one who killed you.”

“Well, if you seek compensation, Burr is currently taking classes at Columbia and I can tell you where to meet him” Alex smiled wickedly, hoping to ease off the tension.

“Wait, really?” Eliza asked.

“Is that so? I’m in Columbia as well.” Angelica mimicked his grin.

“Please don’t encourage them”, Peggy pleaded. “Hey, here’s a better idea: you two order something to drink and sit down so we can talk like  _ normal people _ .”

“We’ll never be normal people, but let’s give it a try.” Eliza pulled Alex along to order and soon they were back at the table, with all three sisters explaining how their second life had been so far – he found it strange that Peggy and Eliza were just fourteen and sixteen with minds like those – and Alex updating them on his own situation – his news about his relationship with Lawrence left Peggy surprised, Eliza unsurprised and Angelica forgiving every mistake he’d committed towards her sister. Except for maybe one.

Later, they’d stand outside the shop before going home for the day and Eliza would linger a moment more to ask:

“What did Peggy tell you?”

“She said ‘Thank you’.”

The look in her eyes said she still understood him just as much as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so Fun fact: Alexander Hamilton was with Margarita “Peggy” Schuyler Van Rensselaer when she passed away. He was actually supposed to have gone back to New York a few days earlier, but she specifically asked him to stay longer and he agreed. He then wrote a letter to Eliza, who was in New York, to give her the news.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and I'll see you in the comments! :)


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